


Stranger Danger

by localmanghoe



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Duct Tape, F/M, Face Slapping, Knifeplay, Masks, Object Insertion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scarification, That Is Not The Intended Use Sir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localmanghoe/pseuds/localmanghoe
Summary: You have something that Michael wants
Relationships: Michael Langdon & Reader, Michael Langdon & You, Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Stranger Danger

**Author's Note:**

> This is really gross please read the tags first.

Maybe visiting Satanist family members was a bad idea. Going to a Satanist party was an even worse idea.

Michael Langdon had spotted you from across the room. He could smell your soul. Untouched. You weren’t one of them. You weren’t clawing for his attention like the rest of the room. You looked more like a tourist, here to see the sights but not stay for long or participate in the local traditions. He watched your curious eyes wander over the pentagrams and the strange décor of the room. Your eyes roamed over the crowd, not looking for anyone in particular.

Then you made eye contact with him and his swore he stopped breathing. You gave him a shy smile and raised your glass; Michael returned the gesture.

He watched you the entire night, admiring the quiet confidence you had about you. He admired the way you declined anything you weren’t comfortable with, the way you engaged in polite conversation despite the difference in beliefs with people in the room.

He licked his lips as he made his way over to you, wanting to do nothing more than corrupt all that was good about you. He wanted to be the one to stain your soul, to cover you in his marks, to drag you down into the depths of hell with him.

“I hope you ladies are enjoying your evening,” Michael asked.

“Oh? Yes, my lord, we are, thank you for the party,” replied your cousin, but Michael wasn’t talking to her.

He turned to you, “I haven’t seen your face around here before, enjoying yourself so far?”

“I’m just visiting my cousin so I just tagged along, but thank you for asking it's been quite … interesting,” you replied.

“I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Michael Langdon,” he held his hand out for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you Michael, I’m Y/N,” you took his hand in a firm handshake, instead Michael brought your hand up to his mouth, placing a light kiss upon it. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue.

As he put your hand down, he noticed the signet ring on your pinkie finger. A dove with a dead snake in its mouth, the words _‘stamus contra malum’ (we_ _stand against evil)_ inscribed onto it. Michael knew this symbol, he had been looking for it for months, thinking it was a myth at this point. It signified the family that stood between him and his purpose, the final obstacle before the end of times.

It is said that your family had been keepers of the sword of St Michael for generations. To have the sword in his hands would prevent any sort of divine intervention in his plans.

This was perfect. What a way to celebrate the end of the world, he would corrupt you and the holy relic.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise you had left until he couldn’t feel your soul nearby.

////

Your hand felt like it was burning when the blue-eyed man held it. Your ring felt like it would melt into your skin. The rumours were true, the anti-Christ had risen, the first seals would be broken. You had to get back to the family and tell them the news, for the sword you had protected to be kept extra secure. It may be the only thing that stood in the way of the apocalypse.

You were lucky that your flight was booked for tonight, you’d be out of sight in a few hours and no one would suspect a thing. You hoped that you had flown under the radar.

Unfortunately for you, the antichrist was determined, and nothing could stand in his way.

////

You woke up after feeling your arms were at an awkward angle. Your mouth moved to yawn but something was stopping you from doing so. As you snapped awake, you realised your mouth had been taped shut, the awkward angle was caused by your wrists being duct taped together behind your back. You began to wriggle, attempting to move, but you were taped together at the ankles too. You attempted to scream, to make any noise.

“No one’s home tonight, remember?” a smooth voice rang through the room, you shuffled trying to get a look at who it came from.

The sounds of heavy boots getting closer to you made you shiver. He finally stopped near you, his gloved hand turning you on your back. All that could be seen were his blue eyes and a single blond curl. You knew who this was.

Michael Langdon.

He had figured out who you were and your location.

You began to shake in fear, you were powerless against someone like him, you saw his smirk underneath his mask, as if he had heard your thoughts.

“You’re a very deep sleeper you know, it could be dangerous.”

You began to thrash around, hoping you could kick him, but you stopped seeing the flash of a very sharp blade. You whimpered as you felt the coolness run down your cheek and rest on your neck. He pushed down a little bit, just enough to nick the skin.

“I only have to push a little further to slit your throat.”

He brought the blade up again, studying the red that now stained the blade, He lifted his mask just enough, so that he could run his tongue over the blood. He then moved to lick a stripe along your neck, collecting droplets along the way.

He pulled his mask back down, “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

You didn’t reply, just tears welling up in your eyes. You saw the annoyance in his eyes before he slapped you.

“I asked you a question!”

You quickly nodded.

“Good.”

You had gone to bed in only a t-shirt and panties, not expecting anyone to come into your room; they were still an obstacle for Michael.

He brought the tip of the blade down your breastbone, before moving it over your breast. He circled your nipple with the tip, until it got hard through the shirt. You whimpered as he did the same to the other.

“Hmm? What’s this? Enjoying yourself already?” he taunted. He brought the knife to the hem of your top, slicing through it and exposing you to the cool air of the room.

You hissed at the sudden sting you felt on your stomach. He was cutting little nicks into the skin, all the way up to your neck. He then moved his mask again, to lick all the way up, following his knife.

The tears forming in your eyes began to fall.

“Poor baby,” he laughed, giving your cheek a condescending pat.

He finally got on the bed, moving you onto your stomach. His blade ran down your spine, causing Goosebumps to rise.

“But your face isn’t the only thing wet about you, is it Y/N?” he asked, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

The blunt edge of the blade teased your slit through your panties, causing you to soak the fabric. The blade finally moved, trailing the hemline all the way to your hip, before he swiftly cut them away, leaving you fully bare for him.

“look at this,” he teased you with his gloved fingers, “you’re absolutely soaked.” He pushed two fingers into you, making you groan at the intrusion.

“Disgusting.”

One hand pumped in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit. His other hand had the knife, leaving little cuts down your thighs, that were followed by his wet tongue.

Your walls began to clench around him, signalling your oncoming release, but he stopped just before you could reach it. You cried at the loss of his fingers and he just laughed.

You heard the jingling of his belt and the sound of his zipper. He groaned as he finally released his cock, giving it a few pumps. He spat on your already weeping cunt, just to remind you where you stood. The tip of his cock teased your clit, before he entered you in one swift thrust, the stretch making you see stars. He began to thrust into you at a rapid pace. He wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling you up against his fully clothed chest.

“You’re enjoying this far too much. Your tight little pussy stretches out perfectly for me,” he jeered, right into your ear. 

You shook your head in denial. But his hand around your throat got tighter, the leather making you clench around him and drip all over him.

The house was silent, save for the wet sound of skin on skin and Michael’s grunts. His knife cut little nicks in your back, his plump lips licking the blood and sucking hickeys all over, marking you as his.

“Do you want to cum angel?”

You nodded the best you could, too lost in pleasure to answer him properly.

He smacked your ass, “then beg for it,” he painfully ripped the tape from your mouth, letting you speak again.

“Please please please let me cum, I- I’ll do anything just please,” you begged, not thinking about the words you were using.

“Anything huh? I’ll hold you against that,” he said, letting go of the knife, his fingers circling your clit instead.

A few little circles of his fingers is all it took for the earth shattering orgasm that washed over you, losing all sense of self in that moment. Michael followed not far behind, your walls milking him for all he was worth, his cum painting your insides.

He finally stopped thrusting and pulled out of you, letting you slump face first back into the mattress, your ass still in the air. Michael watched his seed drip out you, satisfied at how thoroughly he had corrupted you.

You heard him zip himself back up, expecting him to finally untie you, instead, he moved you back on your side, facing towards him, he had finally removed his mask. His curls clung to his skin, his face flush with exertion, but an utterly sinister grin painted his face.

“I think I’m going to keep you as my own little cockslut,” he stated. You couldn’t think of a reply, still fucked out.

“Stay still and this will hurt less,” he said, the glint of his blade making you panic again. He straddled you, holding you down and in place as he brought the blade to the top of your outer thigh. He pressed the blade in further than he had all night, making you scream in agony.

He let out an irritated sigh, stopping briefly to shove his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck on these,” he ordered, you could taste yourself on the leather. He resumed his work with one hand, as the other fucked your mouth, blood and drool dripping out of you.

He finally stopped after what seemed like forever. “There, all done,” he sang. He moved your leg slightly from side to side, admiring his artwork, before licking all the blood that it had produced.

He finally let up, his tongue licking around his red-stained lips and he hummed in satisfaction. He grabbed his discarded belt off the floor, bringing it around your neck and securing it in place. He gave it a little tug to test the tightness.

He finally set you free, painfully ripping the tape off your ankles and wrists. You flexed your hands and feet, trying to get the blood to circulate properly. He didn’t let you rest, pulling you up onto your feet by the belt, choking you a little; he held you by the hip to stop you falling to your knees.

His hand reached for the wound again, still oozing, and swiped the blood, making sure to press into the cuts. He brought his fingers to your lips, staining them with your own blood. He squished your cheeks with one hand, forcing you to properly look at the state you were in. You finally got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you looked utterly debased. You took a closer look at your thigh, it was carved with a heart, a large ‘ML’ in the centre. He had carved his initials into you, marking you like a piece of property.

“If found, please return to Michael Langdon,” he said.

“Now, you said you’d do anything, remember?” he started, you nodded in reply. “Be a good girl and open the door to the shrine for me, you know I can’t do it.”

You went to grab a top, but he slapped your hand away, pulling you out of your room with the belt, like a leash on a dog. He dragged you through the halls, not caring whether you could breathe or not.

You finally got to the door. He raised his brow and looked at you expectantly. You hesitated a little, before placing your right hand in the required crevice, lining your ring up with the lock system. The mechanics of the door began to move around, before the door slid open, revealing a candlelit interior.

Michael walked to the far centre of the room, where the sword sat upon an altar, gleaming in the candlelight. Michael grabbed the hilt and inspected the blade. He closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. You gasped as he opened them, they had turned black, and his skin white. You watched as the sword corrupted in front of you. You watched the gold and silver tarnish to black and red, becoming useless for its intended purpose. You felt a shift in the air.

The world would end smoothly now.

You stayed by the door, feeling ashamed of the state you were in. Michael held his hand out.

“C’mon, no need to be shy now, I don’t think god minds you coming in here with your cunt dripping everywhere.” 

He sat you on the altar in front of him, teasing your skin with the tip of the now obsolete sword. You shivered at how cold the blade was.

You looked at him in confusion as he turned the hilt towards you.

He only smirked, running the hilt through your sensitive lips, making you hiss.

“S- stop it!”

“Hmm? I don’t think I will,” he said, slowly pushing the hilt into you. You clenched around the foreign intrusion, knowing for sure that your future now belonged in the depths of hell.

“Can you believe it, the very sword that brought my father down is now being swallowed by that greedy hole of yours,” he chuckled, continuing to thrust the hilt in and out of you, the wet sound echoing through the shrine.

He eventually had enough, pulling it out of you and resting it nearby, he was going to take it on his way out.

He pulled you up by his belt. He sat where the sword formerly sat, pulling you into his lap. He pulled his cock out for the second time tonight, pink and painfully hard. He lifted your hips and thrust up into you, holding you in place. You still sensitive walls fluttered around him, aching for some friction.

“Sit still, or I’ll slit your throat,” he ordered, bringing his knife out yet again. He held your neck back so you would have to stare at the ceiling and began to carve where your collarbones met at the centre. You clenched around Michael in pain, trying your hardest not to start riding him. the roughness of his trousers was irritating your thighs.

He finally stopped with his knife, letting your neck fall back into its natural position. You looked down to see what he had done this time. A pentagram was carved into your skin, right where everyone could see it. He began to lick the blood that had ran down your breasts. You wanted to feel that tongue on your pussy.

“All in due time,” he said. He held his bloody knife up to your lips, “Clean it.”

You hesitated before sticking your tongue out, the metallic tang unpleasant, but you cleaned it anyway. Michael finally pulled it away, throwing it to the side. He captured your lips with his, immediately swirling his tongue around your mouth. He began to thrust up into you, assaulting your sensitive walls again.

“Look at you, getting fucked by the antichrist on sacred ground, I wonder what your ancestors are thinking, centuries of guardianship relinquished for some dick,” he taunted, slapping your ass in the process.

“Shut up, you talk too much,” you finally spoke, bringing him into another kiss. You tugged lightly on his hair, making him groan into your mouth.

You pulled away again, and Michael latched onto your nipple, giving both of them equal attention before going to leave hickies all over your neck.

The pair of you were already sensitive from your previous encounter, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly snapped for the second time. The candles around you flared as Michael followed behind. The increased light made your skin glow. Michael’s gloved finger tracing the new carving he made.

“Yes, you’ll do just fine.”


End file.
